


The Inn

by AutumnReid



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Psychological, Psychological Trauma, gay relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnReid/pseuds/AutumnReid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inn was John's sanctuary. His Shangri-La if you will. A place where the call bell never ran and he could live in peaceful silence. But what happens when a curly haired man with green blue eyes appears on day in The Inn's halls. Once the call bell rang, John's life would never going to be the same. He just didn't know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Have a Guest?

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea where this story idea came from. I don't own Sherlock.

**The Inn**

* * *

John sighed in content as he sipped his coconut through the pink bendy straw. Hawaii had seemed like a nice place to go at the time so he did. And it was amazing. He felt completely at peace. Laying back on the cotton hammock swinging gently he made himself comfortable.

_Ding!_

John opened his eyes. Did he just hear a bell? He waited for the sound again and heard nothing but the gentle lapping of ocean waves on beach sand. He shifted again. He must be getting delirious, maybe he needed rest. There was only one bell in The Inn and that was the call bell in the front lobby. There's no way it could ring through. He was the only guest. He was always the only guest. John dismissed the sound sipping away at his coconut again laying it on his chest over the tacky Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. He closed his eyes again enjoying the peace.

_Ding! Ding! Ding! DING!_

Alright, he hadn't imagined it that time. He jumped off the hammock watching it disappear with the entire Hawaiian setting. He took a final sip of his coconut before casting it away, it too disappearing in the now white void. John opened the white door and stepped out into the hallway. His toes met hotel carpet and he sighed. He missed Hawaii already. The sound of the call bell had grown rapidly like an impatient man continuing to ring it waiting for assistance and John ran down the hallway. He peaked out into the lobby to see what was going on.

A man turned to him black curls bouncing slightly. Calculating blue green eyes stared at him measuring him up as John cleared his throat. "Who are you?" he asked.

The man corrected the collar of his long trench coat. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Who are you?" John offered a hand.

"John Watson. You can call me Watson if you like" he said, Sherlock shaking the hand. Sherlock looked over the desk rummaging through the drawers.

He turned pulled out some tape before tossing it over his shoulder. "No I don't like. John is fine." He turned back to John. "Nice shirt."

John shifted the Hawaiian shirt, embarrassed. He looked over Sherlock before impulsively reaching out to touch him. Sherlock moved away. "Please refrain from touching me."

John watched as Sherlock continued to rummage through the drawers and files. "There's no way you're real." Sherlock looked through several pieces of mail sitting on the counter.

"I can assure you I'm real, John." He tossed down the envelopes having found nothing before looking into the generic hotel hallway. "Though I am now sitting in a 1960's styled hotel lobby with no memory of how I got here. So, I'm beginning to question a lot of things."

John shook his head. "This is impossible. The Inn doesn't have guests."

"The Inn?" Sherlock said looking up from the papers he pulled from the filing cabinets. John nodded and Sherlock eyed him. "Then what are you?" he asked and John stiffened.

"I guess I'm the owner." He said and Sherlock hopped off of the counter.

"Wonderful, now then, if you could show me the way out of here that would be big help. I have important things to do and have spent enough time in this labyrinth with bad carpeting."

John continued to stare at the impossible man. "You can't be here." He said again.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "And yet, I am. So if you could show me the door I'll leave."

"There are no doors. It's physically impossible for you to be here." John explained motioning to the large empty wall across from the lobby desk where a door should be but did not stand. Sherlock tapped the wall examining it.

"Then how are you here?"

"I don't know? I just am! You need to leave."

Sherlock ignored him pushing past him to the hallway and toward a scarlet red door. He began to open it until John slammed it shut again.

"Stop!" John said pushing the taller man away. "These doors don't lead outside."

Sherlock looked over the door behind John before looking down a ways. He noticed the doors were all colored, some red, some blue, some green, and some black. ' _Why are they different colors?'_  he thought to himself. He turned back to John. "Well if they don't lead outside, where do they lead?"

John covered the door with his body. "Nowhere important" he insisted, watching Sherlock move down the hall a bit.

Sherlock chuckled moving to the next door. "See that's not going to work for me. You've pecked my interest Mr. Watson. Bravo." He reached a black door examining the chains and locks covering it. "Must be something interesting behind this door." A loud thud came from the other side as someone (or something) pounded against the door the chains rattling.

"Please stay away from those." John said and Sherlock nodded following him down the hall. John sighed turning back. "Why are you following me?"

Sherlock looked around. "You seem to know you're way around here." John sighed coming to the white door at the end of the hall. He opened it Sherlock following him inside.

Sherlock looked around the blank white void as John passed him a chair materializing for John to sit in. Sherlock watched amazed as a comfy little apartment room began to build and come to life around him. A hot tea mug appeared in John's hand and he sipped it lightly a roaring fire now in the fireplace beside him. John gestured to the room. "Have a seat." He said and Sherlock sat on the floor. "Why not make a chair?" he asked.

"Make a chair?"

John gestured around the room. "This place is unusual. As far as I can tell it's just one room that appears on every floor. You can do anything here." He finished, turning back to his tea mug.

"Anything?" Sherlock said to himself looking around the room. He looked over to an empty area against the wall and a couch appeared. Sherlock fell back on it staring at the ceiling before bringing his hands together and closing his eyes.

John watched him for a moment as a newspaper appeared in his hands. "What are you doing?" he decided to ask.

"Not now John, I'm thinking."

John frowned turning back to the paper. A moment of silence passed and John looked up again. "How did you get here?"

Sherlock sighed turning over to face John. "I'm trying to think, John. One minute I'm asleep in my house for the first time in three weeks and the next I'm in bad carpet hell." He pulled his hair slightly looking around. "How did I get here?" Sherlock jumped up suddenly scaring John. "How did you get here?"

John paused taking a sip of his tea. "I...um…" he looked down into his tea mug. "I honestly don't know." He finally said setting the tea mug down to think. Another short silence fell over them.

"What are you thinking John?" Sherlock asked and John sat back in his chair.

He rubbed his head a bit. "I was just here. This is actually one of the first times I've thought about it." He rubbed his head again a slight headache forming. Sherlock stood moving to the door and John followed him the world disappearing around him.

Sherlock turned to him as he opened the door. "How do you create these worlds?"

John shrugged. "They just appear. I think and they're there." he explained and Sherlock nodded stepping out into the hotel hall.

"Why a hotel? Of all places, why are we in a hotel?" Sherlock thought aloud. John looked down the long hallways.

"They can hold more doors?" he offered and Sherlock looked at him for a long second.

"…You're right." He said still staring at him as if he were some sort of science experiment. "It holds more doors." Sherlock continued down the hall to a blue door before reaching for the handle.

"No!" John said.

"Why not!" Sherlock snapped back. John looked around for an answer.

"Because I-" He began before Sherlock opened the door walking in forcing John to follow him.

-(Line Breaker!)-

John looked around as the door faded behind them. They stood in a park in the middle of autumn. Several screaming children were playing games of tag and hanging off the monkey bars having the time of their lives. Sherlock looked around the park circling the area as a pair of laughing children ran their way. He watched as they ran toward him and then completely through him as if he were a mirage. John reached forward to touch a tree his hand slipping through it.

Sherlock looked around. "Where are we?" he asked turning to John and he shrugged.

"I don't know" he said. "Never seen this place before in my life. This is why I don't go into the rooms. They're weird and raise more questions than they answer."

Sherlock nodded stepping past a swing. "Don't you ever wonder though? A hotel full of odd things and you don't even snoop around?" he asked.

John hopped over a seesaw. "I've looked in a few but it gives me a headache so I try to stay away from them." He rubbed his temples as they reached the sandboxes a pair of dirty blonde haired kids playing in them.

The younger one- a boy with blue eyes and overalls to match- sat building a sandcastle as a girl, slightly older, kicked it down sand flying everywhere. The boy watched her laugh before bursting into tears and the girl turned taking the shovel ad began to rebuild it. They watched as she handed him back the shovel when it was done and sat next to him helping him decorate the structure. "Bored." Sherlock said as he searched for the door.

-(Line Breaker!)-

John yawned when they reached the hotel's halls again. "Lovely" Sherlock glared at the brown carpeted floors. "Back in carpet hell again." John ignored him walking to the white room opening the door for himself. He yawned again the void changing into a dark bedroom with a small white window letting in silver moonlight. His clothes shifted and he wore red pajamas before slipping into bed. Sherlock watched him go falling back into the bed across from him. He wasn't very tired or keen on sleeping in a room with a complete stranger. But he followed John lead, changing his clothes into pajamas and fell back into the bed.

Not even twenty minutes later both men were sound asleep.


	2. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Sherlock

**The Inn**

* * *

Life continued on like this. Sherlock came, commented on The Inn's carpets, tried to open door after door and pummeled John senseless with questions before he went. Where to, John had no idea and he found when Sherlock did go, no matter how much of a pain he'd been, he would miss him. Maybe it was because he was secretly lonely. Maybe it was because Sherlock was the first company he'd had since he'd started staying at The Inn. They got along pretty well, some could say they were actually friends. John liked the word. He hadn't had a friend in a while.

Sherlock threw open the white door stepping inside. It was the usual setting he'd become accustomed to. He now saw the white room as his home away from home and he treated it as such, tossing down his coat and scarf haphazardly on the floor. John barely looked up sipping from his tea mug as he read the day's paper. It wasn't as if this was new to him, this had become routine.

Several minutes passed of the two sitting in silence. Sherlock looked up for the third time in five minutes and John sighed. He obviously wasn't going to finish his paper.

"What is it Sherlock?" He asked and Sherlock turned over facing him.

"Do you have any siblings?" he asked and John cocked his head.

"I have an older sister named Harriet, why?"

Sherlock said nothing for a while before sitting up. "John, I need to show you something. You're not going to like it but it needs to be done." John looked around.

"What did you set fire to this time?" He asked before Sherlock took his tea mug tossing it into oblivion.

"Follow me." Sherlock said and John followed him into the hall.

He looked around. "What?"

Sherlock ignored him stepping next to a black door and placing his ear against it. Several seconds of silence passed and Sherlock nodded to himself before wrapping his scarf around the handle.

"What are you-"

"-It will burn you." Sherlock said curtly before picking up the lock and holding it out of John. "John open this door." He held the lock out further.

"No." John said quickly. Everything in him protested against it.

"John, open the door."

"No, Sherlock."

"Open it."

"I can't-"

"Can't or won't"

John stared at the taller man before looking down at the lock again. "…both…"

Sherlock set the lock down. "And why do you think that is?" Sherlock looked him over. "You're pupils are dilated." He said rounding the man like a test subject. "You're breathing is slightly heavier and your posture has stiffened. The fight or flight reflex has kicked in and you're ready to run at any moment now if that door is opened." He grabbed John's hand. "You're tremor in your hand is starting to become violent." His eyes locked onto John's. "Am I missing anything?" John snatched his hand away as if Sherlock had burned him.

"Sherlock I can't"

"Yes you can, you have the key right there." John reached into his pocket pulling out a steel skeleton key. Sherlock rested a hand on John's shoulder. "John, I'm trying to help. Open the door."

He looked at the black door picking up the lock. "Sherlock, the last door…I barely got out of there…I don't know what's behind this one…"

"I do" Sherlock confessed. "Don't you trust me John?" John paused. Did he trust Sherlock? His instincts, every fiber of his being, was telling him to run to the white room and never leave. He didn't know anymore. "I promise to help you with whatever comes out of there." He said. John nodded slowly as numb fingers turned the key a deafening click ricocheting off of the walls in the now silent hallway.

The chains crashed to the floor disappearing and he reached for the door handle. He pulled it open slowly waiting for something, anything to grab him and swallow him into the darkness. Nothing came. He stepped inside Sherlock right behind him and the pitch black room began to manifest. It twisted and morphed the door slamming shut behind them and disappeared. The ground started to tremble and John was off, running for his life. The world took form and John continued to run Sherlock right behind him. They ran through the fear as bullet sprayed and bombs exploded. John screamed as a bomb touched down tossing soldiers and dirt alike. "John." He heard over the cries of wounded men.

"Come On!" Sherlock took his hand guiding him through the hall. They fell behind a barricade panting, the screaming never ending around them.

"This is what happens!" John screamed. "This is what happens when you open a black door." He felt nauseated and terrified his mind beating against his skull like a jackhammer.

"John" Sherlock said gently taking the man's hand again. They ran to a little stronghold a medical tent in the distance. John tumbled inside as the medics ran around helping wounded and dying people.

"Doctor Watson!" someone screamed over the madness. A doctor in camouflage clothes turned to them. John stared at the man's face, a mirror of his own.

"That-That's me…" Sherlock squeezed his hand as John watched the scene. A massive explosion shook the entire tent and the entrance flaps opened.

A dark haired man hobbled in carrying another man. "They used an RPG." He managed before his legs gave out and they both fell to the ground. Doctor Watson clipped off the extra thread from his stitching.

"Bring the next!" he yelled and people scrambled over. John's ears perked to closer gunfire. He looked out of the tent as enemy troops approached.

"They're attacking the tents." He thought aloud turning back to Doctor Watson. The man seemed unaware of the closer shots preoccupied with his work. John watched as the enemy took out the men covering the tent. "Do something!" he yelled. "They're going to-!" Several troops fell as bullets sprayed through the tent. John watched as Doctor Watson grabbed a fallen troop's gun shooting over a medical table. An enemy troop appeared from the left and the world froze as the bullet ripped through Doctor Watson. Complete silence followed as John stared at the frozen scene.

Sherlock broke the silence first. "John." He turned numbly to Sherlock eyes welding with tears.

"Why is this here?" John said looking over himself frozen in time.

Sherlock reached for John's hand again taking it softly. "John do you remember when we first met you told me to call you Watson?" John nodded. "Why do you think that is?"

"It's my last name." Sherlock nodded gently patting his shoulder. "Yes, it is. It's also what was respectful to call you in the army. They didn't call you by your first name." John turned back to the version of himself.

"There's no way."

"Do you ever wonder where I go when I'm gone for hours, John?" He placed something into John's hand. John drew back staring at the shiny silver dog tags in his hand, John Hamish Watson written into them. "I go to reality. My mind transfers me here when I sleep. This," He gestured around himself. "None of this is real."

John grabbed Sherlock's hand again squeezing it hard. "Don't you feel that? How can you say this isn't real?!" Sherlock smiled softly.

"John" He began. "In the state you're in your nerves reach to your subconscious." Sherlock touched him. "I can't feel anything." He said.

John looked at their connected hands. "But-"

"John, you were in Afghanistan. You were a doctor and saved many, many lives." He seemed to struggle with the next words. "And then this happened." John looked around at the bloodbath. "You survived." Sherlock continued. "But, you've been in a coma since."

John looked around panicked. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A year and a half." Sherlock said pulling them both up and guiding John out of the tent to stare into the battlefield.

John looked around. "Then what is all of this?"

Sherlock looked around. "These are memories. Just like the playground. You have an older sister right?" Sherlock looked at the rocks by his feet. "Amazing." He mumbled. "You created this world. This 'Inn' while you've been comatose and it's taken hold of you. You're subconscious doesn't want to wake up." John listened to every word closely. "That's why there's no doors. You don't want to leave. Well, that's not exactly true." Sherlock pulled John down the hill to the battlefield. "You can't leave. You're in a coma. You don't know how. The doors not here."

John held his aching head. "This can't be happening."

"It's happening John." He rubbed circles into the shorter man's back. "I know this because I found you."

"Found me?"

"I'm in the hospital with you right now and I need you to wake up. I'm not one for sentiment but there's a lot of people out there who want to see you. So you need to open your eyes. Find the door John. I'll walk you through it." John stared at the curly haired man before looking out into the field. A golden door edged its way into existence several feet away.

"It's been right here this entire time." John said looking at the door in the distance. He felt fingers lace with his. Sherlock smiled down at him.

"Coming John?"

John looked around the room as it faded into a black oblivion the only thing remaining the golden door feet away. "I-"

"-I'm right here and I'm out there waiting as well." Sherlock assured.

John nodded slowly making his way to the door Sherlock behind him. He looked at the golden shining door. He reached for the handle hesitating inches away. Sherlock gave his other hand another slight squeeze and John grasped the knob. The real Sherlock was waiting for him on the other side John thought and that was all he to find his courage and throw open the door

John gasped as he sprang up in bed. He looked around the bright room a faint beeping behind him. The several machines connected to him filled the silence before a soft squeeze of his hand caused him to turn to the soft smiling face of Sherlock.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Hello Doctor Watson, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Sherlock Holmes." He said before several nurses rushed in pulling him out of the room.

Sherlock sighed. John had finally woken up. He smiled to himself opening his laptop case to grab the device. He turned it on searching for answers. How had his subconscious connected with John's? Why was he able to lead John out of his coma? So many questions buzzed through his head. The Inn couldn't be real so how had they been able to meet? People couldn't exactly hop into someone else's subconscious dreams. Sherlock sighed pulling off his coat and reaching for his scarf. His eye widened when his fingers touched nothing.

His scarf was gone.


	3. Epilogue: That's Why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This story's done! i'm happy i finally finished it!

**The Inn**

* * *

John putting away his patient's file into the cabinet. He opened the next one as his cellphone chimed and he snapped it open.

**124 Foster Road. -SH**

John sighed slightly. Where was the white room when he needed it? He hadn't slept in three days and he would kill everyone in a ten mile radius for his ugly Hawaiian shirt and a coconut right now. His fingers flickered over the buttons.

**I'm at work Sherlock**

He didn't have to wait long for a response.

**Could be dangerous. –SH**

John smiled slightly beginning to text again.

**No Sherlock.**

He tossed his phone into the top desk drawer. Twenty minutes later, Sherlock kicked open the door to John's office sitting on his desk. John ignored him continuing to work on the last of his paperwork. Silence fell over the two.

"Triple homicide?" Sherlock finally said.

John smiled again continuing to write. "No."

"A note in the victim's blood?"

"I said no Sherlock."

"Might end with a shootout on top of the office building."

"No Sherlock." John said and Sherlock sighed laying out on John's desk knocking over several things and sending paper's flying. He turned to John puppy eyed.

"I could get hurt without my doctor there."

John stared at him before turning on his intercom. "Sarah?"

Static followed before a woman's voice rang out. "Yes?"

"Do I have any more appointments today?" he asked and Sherlock grinned.

"Not for another three hours" she said back.

John put away his stuff. "Alright, I'll be going out then. Call if I'm needed."

"Okay" She said a pause following. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Hello Sarah." He said and John turned the com off grabbing his coat.

"Let's go John before Anderson contaminates the crime scene." John groaned as he was all but carried out the door and to the street. Why did he leave the Inn in the first place? He watching his lanky boyfriend hail a cab and push him in before hopping in as well and give the address to the cabbie. He turned back to John a wide goofy grin on his face. John couldn't help but smile back lacing their fingers together for Sherlock to squeeze.

Oh yeah, that's why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this story! it was fun to write and i hope it was fun to read<3


End file.
